


Gilded Amythyst

by Subtle_Shenanigans



Category: Spyro 2: Ripto’s Rage, Spyro the Dragon - Fandom, The Legend Of Spyro Trilogy
Genre: AU, Angst, Concept, Concept piece, Don’t copy to another site, Gen, Gets worse before it gets better, Headcanons on dragon size, I’ve been toying with this idea for quite a few months, Lore - Freeform, Mentions of eating aversion, TLOS: Eternal Night was my first game, Trust Issues, Very AU, black market, chains/manacles, illegal exotic animal shipments, no beta we die like men, not cannon-compliant, not headcanon, shock collar, so there’s a chance that there’ll be trilogy references of some sort, symbiotic relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2019-10-23 03:10:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 12,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17675324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subtle_Shenanigans/pseuds/Subtle_Shenanigans
Summary: There is nothing more treasured in Avalar or The Forgotten Worlds than a Dragon, since they disappeared well over three centuries ago, and the only tale the inhabitants have left are the manuscripts left behind, and whatever news an Egg Theif carries back after traversing their land.That is, until the delegate of the black market gets ahold of one, anyhow.





	1. Treasure

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I love Spyro, (and I found out my PS2 works!!!) But, this idea won’t leave me alone - I mean, Moneybags is such a conceited, pompous blaggard and I sorta wanted to make him more despicable, as well as introduce this whump concept. Plus, how does he have so much control over so many things???? He’s such a shady character.
> 
> This Spyro is slightly older (adolescent but younger than 14 in human terms), while being slightly more serious like Legend Trilogy Spyro is. Sparx is definitely leaning more towards bright and bubbly from the original Trilogy.
> 
> I will give **warning** that there’s going to be mentions of animal abuse of sorts, as well as “dehumanization” in a sense. It shouldn’t be too intense, but it _will_ be blatantly referenced/mentioned.

      

      There was the rough scrape of the cage being dragged in, rugged metal scrapping against splintering wood floors.

     A bear stood, watching the malformed creatures drag it in. He was dressed to the nines, and gave off an air of being a pompous, arrogant upperclass salesman who’d as soon steal and sell your soul for a handful of coins while convincing you to spend double that on a set of spoons.

     “Ah, Theif, I see you’ve brought me something else today.” The bear’s muzzle twitched into a slight grin, his monocle rising slightly at the pressure.

    An Egg Theif was watching the procession carefully. It was the standard kind of Egg Theif; a hunched, thin and bony black body swathed in a spun robe of a single color. This one dons a dark green, and his slit, white glowing eyes and ever-present jagged grin peeped out from under the hood. “You’ll like this one Moneybags, oh yes,” it sniggered, voice high and whiny. “You’ll get good money I’m sure - and pay me back sufficiently, I gather.”

     “I can get you the two sets of Griffin eggs you requested - if, and only if what you’ve brought is of equal value.”

    That malicious grin didn’t even twitch. “Oh, it’s of greater value, I assure you.”

    The creatures suddenly dropped the cage, one of them hissing at it. With a sharp sound from the Theif, one of them snagged the cloth with its claws and pulled it down.

     Moneybags eyes were wide in disbelief; his monocle even fell, dangling on its gold chain. Theif started to jump up and down from one foot to the other in excitement, cackling, “see! See!”

     It was a dragon - and a young one at that. Each paw chained with a metal band over its ankles and wrists, as well as a large band around its neck. It’s scales with rich amythyst, the warm undertones suggesting a fire breed, and its highlights - arching wings, horns, tailtip, undersides, and headspikes - were a soft blend of golden yellows and oranges.

    The mouth was bound shut as well, and beautiful indigo eyes looking pleadingly at Moneybags.

    A wicked grin stretched across the greedy bear’s face. “Theif, I’ll get you three sets of eggs - you’ve outdone yourself.”

     “Ah ah ah, don’t forget.” Moneybags glanced down at him, watching as he pulled out a glass lantern with holes at the top for air. A dragonfly buzzed anxiously in it, darting back and forth in the small space. It stilled when it finally caught sight of the dragon, then charged forward, bouncing off with a _dink_.

    Moneybags sighed. “How could I forget?” Every treasure came with a price, he supposed. Young dragons were bonded to a dragonfly. If that soul-guide perished, then so to would the dragon.

    Well, according to lore, but Moneybags wasn’t one to risk something like that.

    His huge paws gently took the lantern, and he set it carefully on top of one of the crates, making sure to place a cloth around it so it couldn’t be knocked off. 

    “Any suggestions on feeding for them? I know your kind can traverse to the Dragon Realms at will.”

     Theif nodded, smile flattening somewhat into something more serious. “Oh yes, yes. The dragonfly will need sufficient feed - butterflies.”

    Moneybags arched a brow. “Butterflies? Any specific kind? Monarch, Whimsy, or Mourning perhaps?”

    “Fodder.” 

     Moneybags frowned. “That won’t be cheap, but, I suppose I can make do. And the prize?”

    The Theif grinned. “Technically, it can live without eating as long as you keep it’s soul-guide alive. But I’d suggest meat if you want to feed it. Mutton is your best choice.”

    “Mmm.”

     They glanced at the cage, which shook as the dragon pulled at the restraints, eyes wide and watery. It looked back and forth between the two, huffing smoke out of its nostrils, and curling it’s mouth so that teeth showed in fear.

    “Oh, don’t worry little Artisan,” Theif cooed at it. “Moneybags will take very, very good care of you. Won’t you, Bags?”

    Moneybags fought off a scowl at the name, and instead smiled sweetly, falsely, at the beast. “Of course, of course. After all, I wouldn’t want to tarnish such a wonderful treasure, would I?”

    And Moneybags saw in the creature’s eyes that it didn’t believe a single word that he had said.

    Which was all the better, he supposed. 

    After all, Moneybags was not a good person. A greedy bastard, yes, who took good care of his treasures, keeping them polished and shining. But a good person, who cared for the well being of another? Not at all.

    He found himself grinning.

    . . .not at all.


	2. Value

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I just write a second chapter? Yep.
> 
> Do I have major plans for this story?  
> Nope.
> 
> Am I rolling with it anyways?  
> Yep.

    Moneybags was one of the most despicable creatures in Avalar, if you asked Elora.

    He was gentlemanly enough, of course. But there was something in that smug, self-assured grin, and poisoned honey-tone. His eyes were dishonest, and his words deceptive.

     Elora did _not_ like the Ursanine. Nor did most of the decent creatures in Avalar. Hunter even claimed that the salesman set off his ‘creepy crawly cat feeling.’

    So she was understandably upset to see him chatting up with the professor.

     “Ah, Elora,” he said in a hospitable tone. “So Nice to see you again. The professor was just telling me how you knew so much about magic in our world.”

    Elora but back a frustrated groan; while intelligent in the scientific arts, and something of a father figure to her, he really was dense sometimes.

    “Oh yes,” the professor said in a creaky warble. “Moneybags here was just asking about the nature of fodder butterflies - I merely told him that that was out of my field of knowledge. I do know that they’re considered magic entities - but, you know better about them than I, my dear.”

    “Of course, Professor,” she said, swallowing. Elora glanced at Moneybags; his grin felt too sharp, wicked even, like a Riptoc with its teeth sunk into a turtle. 

    She could end the conversation there, choose not to answer. But she knew that to Moneybags everything had a price - and with how he oh-so-casually leaned against the wall, and spoke charmingly with the Professor, she could guess what he knew she valued.

    So, with an air of fake politeness, she answered his unspoken questions.

    “Fodder Butterflies are most definitely considered magic entities - unlike lowerclass, like myself being a Faun, or upperclass, like Dragons and Dragonflies, they’re somewhere in-between. Their pure form is the Butterfly, though they can’t sustain the energy to maintain it for long. Instead, they revert to lower-energy ‘fodder’ forms - creatures like sheep and frogs and bugs. Small, unintelligent things that mimic sentient creatures. If this form breaks, they revert to their pure form until they can settle down and rid themselves of agitation in order to turn back into a fodder form.”

   Elora finished speaking, feeling warmth at the pride wreathing the Professor’s face. But it instantly turned to a consuming chill when she heard Moneybags’ slow clapping.

    “Well done my dear; very informative indeed. Like a school teacher, if you’ll forgive me saying so.” Though his canines were no more threatening than Hunter’s, the smile that showed them was much, much more dangerous. “Now, if you can forgive such an asinine question, where do they come from, exactly? Do they breed like most other creatures? Grow like plants? I’m most curious you know.”

    Mouth dry, she couldn’t help but blurt out, “Why?”

   She snapped her mouth shut just as soon, feeling panicked. She hated Moneybags, she really did, but like hell she would get on his bad side. She _knew_ he was more than he seemed. Dare she say, downright shady. But she didn’t want to find out whatever consequences he was willing to dish out.

   He didn’t bat an eye, luckily. Merely smiled ~~Eerily~~  charmingly. “Why, dear, I love butterflies! Monarchs are my favourite you know; regally draped in gold and orange. Though Whimsy Silks are a close second. Why, I can’t even begin to tell you about. . .”

    And even though his answer seemed honest, and his story sincere, Elora couldn’t help but feel like answering him was giving away something of high value.

    And with a cost of high consequence.


	3. Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is a dragon worth?
> 
> Apparently it depends on how you’re marketing one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This’ll be the start of the sad stuff guys :(

      The dragon in the cage was not a ‘fire dragon’. He was an Artisan.

     The dragon in the cage was not an ‘it’. He was a he, and his name was Spyro.

    He was not a ‘treasure’; he was a son to the Realms, a brother to his soul-guide, Sparx, and he was different.

    The strange creature working with the Theives kept him locked up. Called him ‘it’ and wouldn’t let him speak. Last time he had tried, well. . . the collar binding around his neck had dug what felt like electrical claws into him.

    He was scared.

    He was . . .scared.

    Delbin was surely looking for him by now. All the Elders must be, from the Peace Keepers to the Beast Makers, hellfire, even the Dream Weavers were probably coherently searching for him! 

    . . .but. . .would they know where to look?

    Spyro got into trouble occasionally, most young dragons did, especially once they grow out of being a dragonlet. Being different also caused him to be more reckless and independant. And Spyro being the orphan didn’t help matters. But this time, it wasn’t his fault.

   Blazing Egg Theives.

   He doesn’t remember much about what happened - he and Sparx had gone into the tunnels when the rain began, and decided to look for the Portal to Dragon Shores. He’d been about to go through when Sparx had chimed in fear, and then black stretched across his vision-

   Then he woke up, bound and tied down in a cage, twisted little creatures jumping around and chittering mockingly at him as his tail whipped back and forth nervously. An Egg Theif watched him in silence, grinning eerily.

   He must have been knocked out; sneaked upon. So, it really wasn’t his fault.

   But blame aside, the young dragon was worried about how he would be rescued. He could sense that he wasn’t in the Dragon Realms - the Artisan Realm had the lowest magic saturation, and still felt normal. But this place - his scales crawled and buzzed the first two days, and then just felt chilled. It was like being at a higher altitude with less oxygen - you noticed the lack more than anything.

    The bear (how he had been referred to that way seemed to be an indication of species), Moneybags, came down into the square-cut cave(?), carrying a platter of some sort. When the bear reached Spyro’s cage, he opened the small door and slid the platter in with a look of disgust.

    “Well, it’s food I suppose,” he wrinkled his snout. Moneybags looked at Spyro then, huffing, “I suppose I can keep the muzzle off for the time being - but if I see you open your mouth for anything other than eating then I’ll zap you again.”

    The growled threat was more than enough for Spyro to lower his eyes in compliance. He wasn’t stupid; he knew he was a prisoner - worse, actually, since Moneybags talked to him like he could be a trained Fodder-Beast or Gem-crafted creature.

    Moneybags wasn’t exactly gentle when he slipped off the metal band from Spyro’s muzzle, but it wasn’t all that rough either. When Moneybags turned to set it aside, he stretched his jaw gently.

    The food was the same as the day before: a slab of raw mutton, drained and clean-cut. As much as Spyro likes mutton, he, like all dragons, actually preferred to roast his meat. Warm food settled much better in the stomach, as they said back home.

    But he wasn’t about to push it with Moneybags, so he choked it down without complaint.

    While he was eating, Thief came in, grinning. “Bags! Thank you for your prompt payment. I didn’t know you could get that many eggs in three days.”

     “Of course, of course; a bargain is a bargain, after all,” Moneybags drawled back, leaning against the wall. “And you brought me _such_ a nice surprise, after all.” He flashed a grin towards Spyro, who cowered down in the cage.

    Theif sniggered. “So? Plans, plans; any buyers yet?”

    Moneybags let out a withering sigh. “I haven’t put it on the market yet. I’m still deciding - would it be more valuable to sell a whole dragon, alive and intact? Or butcher it and sell the parts? There’s so many out there who’d grasp up _any_ hint of dragon magic.”

    Spyro felt his meal trying to come back up.

    “Tch,” Theif waved a scrawny black hand in dismissal. “Too easy, surely. Plus, with Ripto stirring up trouble surface-wide, it’d be easier to keep it in one piece, wouldn’t it?”

    Moneybags nodded. “Oh yes, I figured so.” Spyro started breathing normally again. “For now I’ll keep it until things cool down. I know there’s quite a few worlds in Avalar that would just. . . _leap_ for the chance to own such a magnificent prize. It’s worth very much, after all,” he sighed dreamily. 

    “But you’ll be accepting other business as well?” Theif asked, suddenly focused.

    A snort erupted from the bear. “Of course, what do you take me for? Now, I’m assuming the Guild has found some more things of value that you’d like me to look over?”

    They started to go up the stairs, Theif’s sniggers fading away. “Yes! Now. . .”

    The room was now silent and empty. Spyro slumped down with a sigh. “Sparx?” He whispered, projecting it best as he could. “Can you hear me buddy?”

    He lay silently for a moment, head tilted and eyes trained up. Suddenly, on top of a set of boxes, there was a glow. 

  Then, a chime.

   Despite the predicament, Spyro smiled. “You’re too far for me to hear anything, buddy, but glad to know you can hear me.”

    Another chime sounded, and something like a bleat. Spyro couldn’t quite make out the words, but he could sense the feeling behind them.

    “It’ll be okay, Sparx,” Spyro whispered, laying his head on his paws and feeling a little less alone. “Delbin or one of the others will come for us, you’ll see.”   


	4. Trinket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunter always came across as a Nineties Californian Cool Dude (TM) so if he comes out that way in this, well, there we go.
> 
> Also I don’t recall if the Professor’s lab is in Autumn Plains, so I’m going to assume he has a portal in each world to the lab.
> 
> Fun fact, Spyro and I technically share a birth year ٩( ᐛ )و.

 

Hunter favored the same opinion as Elora, when it came to Moneybags.

   Unlike her, though, he was much, much more laidback and passive with his opinion.

   Of course Hunter noticed the shady behavior; he also knew a little bit about the behind the scenes dealings that the bear had. Hunter may be a bit of an air head, but he wasn’t an idiot.

    Plus, people felt comfortable around him. They talked. After all, how would dense ol’ Hunter understand the severity of the things they talked about?

    (Spoiler: he understood all too well. He could give a list of at least three people in every Realm of Avalar that had either bought or sold less-than-legally with Moneybags.)

    But he had never felt the need to act over it. While The Professor was highly respected (Avalar didn’t have any singular government; each Realm had their own leader, and the Home Worlds were considered Neutral territory - though the Professor was considered something of a Judge, or High Status in the Home Worlds. Not that the daft little mole would notice it, Hunter thought fondly.) he didn’t wield any official authority. Nor was there anyone else able to truly wrangle the lawbreakers.

    Even if Ripto somehow seized the Home Worlds, Hunter had a feeling that he would be tolerant of this sort of behavior.

     Hunter stepped onto a portal, transporting with a blink to Autumn Plains.

    -and right into rain.

    “Yech!” He growled. Shaking a fist to the sky, “Stupid rain! You got me this time, but next time I’ll- I’ll remember a rain coat!”

    “Hunter?”

    Blinking owlishly, Hunter turned and, registering who it was, grinned widely. “Elora! Hey, I was just looking for you!” He swiped the headfur hanging in his face away.

    Elora couldn’t help but twitch a grin; Hunter was one of her good friends, if not best friend.

    Her own hair hung limply in her face, obscuring her vision. “Let’s get to the Professor’s lab and out of this rain.”

    “Seconded,” Hunter agreed, glaring at the sky mutinously.

    It was a bit of a walk, but once they stepped within the castle walls it was well worth it. It took a few turns, and then through a turnable wall, but there was the portal to the Professor’s lab.

    Well, one of them anyways.

    By time they went through, falling forwards with a tilt as though tripping through a doorway, the warm sun was already drying them off and they could hear the cry of seabirds.

    “So, what brings you here anyways?” Elora asked, ringing out the last of the moisture from her own mane. “You don’t go through Autumn Plains very often - unless you were looking for me - in which case, either you’re bored, or you lost your running shoes again.”

    “Hey!” Hunter cried. “I resent that! I can have perfectly valid reasons to look for you _besides_ being bored or needing to get out of trouble. Plus, I don’t need the shoes anyways,” he muttered.

    She gave him a deadpan look. “First off, yes, you do. Remember last week? You hunted me down to go Ice Fishing is Crystal Glacier? What about two days ago, huh? When you got your tail stuck in-“

    “Geez! Okay, okay, I get it! But I swear, this times different.”

    “-and besides, those are _special_ running shoes that a pediatrist insistes you wear so that you don’t tear your paw pads to shreds, you dolt. So yeah, wear them.” she poked him in the chest for emphasis, then turned to walk away.

    Hunter rubbed his chest morosely. “Okay, I get your point. Even though shoes are stupid,” he murmured. Then, louder, “But I did want to discuss something important!” He jogged to catch up next to her, biting his lip pensively. “So, here’s the thing; word in the grapevine is that MB has something _real_ valuable. Like, serious big bucks.”

    “So?” Elora snorted. “Nothing we can do about it, whatever it is.”

    Hunter jumps in front of her, walking backwards and talking. “But, here’s the thing; I hear this kinda stuff all the time. It’s usually trinkets or junk that he swindles for. Not something that he’s been hiding from his buyers for almost two weeks.”

    Elora rolls her eyes. “And where did you hear this from if he’s so keen on hiding it?”

    Hunter grinned. “The Guild.”

    She stopped short, face falling. “You’ve been talking with the Egg Theives?!” She grabbed him by his tank top, shaking him, “Are you insane?! Do you _know_ how many people go missing because of them?!”

    He gently pried her paws off. “Hey, hey! Cool it, Elora! I haven’t been messing with them if that’s what you mean! It’s ol’ Uff, you remember Uff, right? Always hanging around that Tavern in Scorch? I stopped by and he just started talking - wouldn’t stop, actually.”

    Her paws still held, she slumped forwards, groaning, “His name is _Ouef_ , you idiot. But,” she sighed, then looked up, “you’re right. That’s not so bad, and he’s usually so out of it it’s not like he can snitch on you for knowing too much. Anyways, how do you know his information is reliable.”

    Hunter’s Classic grin came back. “Because he didn’t know any details. He always tells the truth if it’s straight forward and unfiltered. If he starts adding specifics, then you know he’s lying; he’s backwards like that.”

    Elora skipped around him with a kick of her hooves. “Okay, so let’s say that he’s right; Moneybags is hiding something _big_ \- big enough for him that he’s not ready to market it yet, or he’s wanting to go about it carefully. This brings us back to the original point: what does it have to do with us, and what would we even do about it?”

    Elora noticed Hunter wasn’t besides her; turning, she saw he was still, looking down at the sand. Conflicted.

    “The thing is, Elora. . .whatever Moneybags is hiding. I think-“ he looks away suddenly, uncomfortably. Sucking in a sharp breath, he looks at her with resolve and finally says, “I think whatever he has is alive.”

    He sees how the shock drains her. Draws forth a quiet, “oh.” 

    Hunter nods. “Yeah. So let’s go talk to the Professor.”

    “Yeah. Let’s go talk to the Professor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorta filler; just getting a grasp of Hunter’s character.
> 
> Yes, I spelt Œuf as Ouef on purpose.
> 
> Edit: changes Skelos to Scorch because I figured it’d fit better.


	5. Worn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol so this fic may derail at points, fair warning. But I’m trying not to let anxiety or fear of displeasing others hinder me in my writing in general, and just have fun :p.
> 
> By the way, digitalized a Hunter in my style on my phone: https://subtleshenanigans.tumblr.com/post/182851775788/a-digital-hunter-done-on-my-phone-this-is-more

    Moneybags paced agitatedly, muttering hotly under his breath.

    The dragon wasn’t doing as well as he’d hoped. There had been a few outbursts of course; trying to dart out of the cage or growling some sort of speech. But Moneybags quickly tampered that down with a few buzzes of the zapping collar that Theif had provided. After that, it had grown sullen and wary, watching with shimmering indigo eyes.

    The worst altercation had been when it had refused to eat; seemingly growing tired of the raw meat. In a rare fit of anger, Moneybags had wrenched open the door, intent on force-feeding it rather than letting it waste away. Perhaps it was planned, or simply fearful instinct, but it had breathed hotly and snapped at him when he grew close, wrenching against the chains.

     Moneybags pressed the button. And held it.

     It screamed until it was hoarse, and kept whimpering and crying softly when he finally let go. Moneybags kicked the plate towards it, and then relocked the door.

    It learned it’s lesson; it was to eat, even if it didn’t want to, and if it ever tried any trick like that again, it would face severe consequences.

    And now, its third week in, its scales were becoming dull, losing their shine. It’s face became worn, despondent. The dragon fly was making a racket all the time, its soft light dipping to blue, sometimes green, that only rose back for a few hours after eating fodder butterflies.

    To add to his foul mood, when he had kicked the dish it had let a small gash across the left side of the dragon’s face. He knew it would heal with time - wasn’t even deep enough to scar. But the blight infuriated him more than the time he chipped that rare vase from Aquaria Towers.

     “I suppose I’ll just have to talk to Theif again,” Moneybags muttered, pulling on the edges of his suit jacket to straighten it out. “He, admittedly, knows more about dragons than I do. Clearly, this would be the wise choice.”

    It left distaste in his mouth to admit so, even to himself. But as snub as he could be, he wasn’t one to allow his pride to ruin his collection. And, in the case of dealing with live treasure, there were added complications that would need to be taken care of.

    He glanced at the stairs leading down to the basement; the whimpering has stifled a while ago. It was nice to have silence again.

    Yes, he’d contact Theif and get his advice on how to proceed. Teaching it to sit pretty, what to use to shine its scales, and so forth.

   He’d make this worn-out treasure shine irresistibly  to every collector in Avalar, so help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear autocorrect, please stop trying to change every thing to present tense. It doesn’t work for me. Thank.


	6. A penny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These titles lowkey make no sense like I’m not even following a coherent theme agahaoskanis.
> 
> Also I finally bought a pocket knife because I’ve been meaning to for awhile now (I barely remember my own age lol), and it’s colorful and I’ve been referring to it as Stabulous so there’s that I guess.

     While Elora was right in her thoughts - that most had - that the Professor could be dense at times, he was by no means totally ignorant.

    He knew people respected him (though ‘Valar knows why), and not too many could follow along with the science of things, so they viewed him as a genius (while he could have humility to be confused by others’ respect, he definitely was vain enough to hold onto his “genius” title.)

    In any case, he was a very strange, complicated person. For instance, he absolutely hated math. But he knew how vital it was for science so he suffered through the numbers to get to the understandings and results.

    But that’s derailing from the original point; he may be dense to the subtle shadiness of many individuals in Avalar, but he _knew_ Elora, and even to a degree, Hunter.

    So to see both of them coming up the beach to him, her expression drawn downwards, and Hunter’s tight, he immediately set aside his trusty pencil and clipboard.

    “Elora, Hunter!” He said pleasantly. “What a nice surprise! I’ve been working on a new portal design recently, and can’t wait to show you.”

    He smiled, calm and unalarmed. He’d let them choose - they could either tell him immediately what was bothering them, or take the distraction and tell him later. He never needed to be pushy with them, and he wouldn’t start now.

    “Well. . .” Hunter scratched at the back of his head. The Professor could tell he was conflicted - which, for the Cheetah wasn’t unusual. Like Elora, he was  basically an orphan. Unlike her, he had no one to really look after him or help him along the way, so he tended to be brash and hesitant all in one. (As well as clingy, but that was a whole other matter.)

    Oh dear, now Elora was biting her lip. He could tell that she surely wanted to talk to him, but probably couldn’t find the words.

    The Professor, with a quiet sigh, made an active decision. With a wave of his paw he said, “Come. Let’s walk. It seems like you want to talk. . .?”

    They seemed to agree to this, sagging slightly at having some of the weight taken from them. They walked along at a steady pace: the Professer’s slow drawl, Elora’s stifled caper due to the sand, and Hunter’s heavy footfalls. They walked along the beach, unhurriedly, as the waves lapped closely on their left.

    “Hmm, the ocean is pretty calm today. Could be due to the Zephyr residents stopping the Breeze Builder’s turbines again - they really must stop that silly squabbling. But I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about that,” the old mole said, fixing his spectacles. “Maybe a penny for your thoughts?”

     Elora’s breath hitched; she then steadied it, ready to speak.

    But Hunter beat her to the point. “It seems like Moneybags has something new he . . .uh, acquired.”

    The Professor hummed. “Hmm, well he has quite a versatile collection.”

    “We think it’s something alive.”

    The Professor stopped suddenly at that. “Well. That’s not good at all, no no, it isn’t.” He started muttering, getting twitchy. “Let’s see; yes, I can change the charge - depends on if I can get a signature - then we’ll remove the fluctuation so that it stays near-world, and-“

    “Professor?” Elora, detecting the fervor in his voice, couldn’t help but worry. After all, last time he had gotten this frantic he hadn’t eaten for days. She exchanged a Look with Hunter. “Professor? What are you going on about?”

    The mole turned to look at her; she was like a daughter to him. There was no way he’d keep secrets.

    “Why, Elora, I’m trying to figure out how we’ll rescue this creature that Moneybags has, of course!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Professor’s POV will probably be rare by the way.
> 
> And Moneybags’ will diminish significantly later. For reasons.


	7. Grandeur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who thought I was joking last chapter: https://subtleshenanigans.tumblr.com/post/182927647163/also-this-is-a-post-with-pics-of-a-pocket-knife
> 
> V short chapter.

   Elora’s head was spinning with how fast things were moving.

    The Professor had immediately gone to dismantling his portal, replacing some of the Green magic-attracted orbs for Blue emotion-attracted ones. He debated adding a Red power-attracted orb, but wasn’t sure what exactly that would lead to.

     (Especially after the whole debacle with an only Red orb portal, and Hunter’s birthdate.

    How were they to know that it’d be attracted to a scepter carried by Ripto, who happened to share the same Birthday as Hunter?

    . . .Needless to say, it was no one person’s fault.)

    “What . . .was this portal originally for, Professor?” 

    The old mole hummed. “Hmm, well, you see Elora, I was hoping to re-open the rift that Ripto had come through, and contact the dragons if I could.”

    “Dragons!” She turned to see Hunter stand straight up, tail following suit and puffing up.

    “Yeah, why dragons, Professor? Aren’t they cut off from our world?”

    “Well. . .yes, to a degree,” The Professor agreed hesitantly. “But, well, the world Ripto has come from seems to be a bridge to the Dragon Realms. And didn’t you smell the smoke smell he carried on himself? He’s definitely encountered them before, and I’d say they weren’t fond of him in the least.”

    He suddenly stood up straight, cracking his back. “But! That being said, we’ll need to put it on hold for now. I’ve just about got this finished - give me a few days of calibration at worst.” 

    He turned to them, instantly more serious. “Now, I don’t want to ask this of you both, but I’m old and dense. If you can find out anything further, then tell me as soon as possible - but _do not_ go endangering yourselves, got it?”

    Hunter gave a hefty salute, and Elora nodded enthusiastically.

    “You can count on us, Professor!”


	8. leaf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, it’s been a bit, sorry about that. 
> 
> So basically all I have planned for this story is: Spyro caught/kept —> eventually escapes —> stays with the good trio for a while. I don’t have much solid planning but I’m working my way towards that.

    Hunter was pretty good at gathering information.

    While not everyone knew of Moneybags’ less-than-legal activities, they all knew that he was a collector. The sharp dress, refined accent, and impeccable mannerisms were hard to miss, and to the scruffier of Avalar’s inhabitants, this equaled prestige and richness of class along with money.

    And, while Hunter knew he wouldn’t be able to get anything directly by means of conversation, it wouldn’t be too hard to play the dunce who tripped over conversation and was slow to the joke.

    (He hated - this - pretending he was stupid. He wasn’t too good at math or academics growing up, and had been on the tail-end of various biting words like ‘slow’ and ‘stupid’. His strengths lay elsewhere, was all. Athleticism and friendly interaction were more his interest.)

    So, steeling himself, he took a deep breath and threw on his friendliest, toothiest grin.

    “Hey, Moneybags!” He greeted the bear with a wave.

    He saw the subtle twitch of irritation in the bear’s ears, but MB didn’t seem more irritated than usual. Good, it was his normal ‘I don’t like insufferable fools’ reaction.

    Hunter dropped his hands on his knees, breathing harshly like he had been running all over Avalar (he sorta had). In between getting his breath back, he panted, “Been lookin’ for you all over, MB!”

    “Moneybags is fine,” The aristocrat said curtly.

    Hunter gave a lolling grin. “That’s what I said, MB. Anyways, you buy junk, right?”

    Moneybags sputtered, and Hunter would have laughed if this weren’t such a dangerous game. “ _Junk?_ I think not!”

    Hunter put on a confused look, and, after a bit, pretended to ‘get it’. “Oh! Sorry, I mean, like,” he gestured with his paws, “vases, an’ vahzez or whatever. Gold-leaf covered baubles an’ such.”

    There it was - that glint of interest amongst the irritation. He could hear the growl that MB bit back. Then, a grumbled, “. . .yes, I do buy valuables. _Real_ ones. So unless you actually have something, good day.”

    Before the pompous ursanine could turn, Hunter managed to say, “Yeah, of course! I found this thing - it’s like, a statue? - and it looks like it’s covered in gold-leaf or whatever. You mind if I bring it by soon?”

     Moneybags seemed to be contemplating. “Depends, what are you wanting for it - _if_ it’s the real deal.”

    Hunter shrugged. “Just enough for a new skateboard, dude. My old one snapped.”

    It almost looked like Moneybags was trying to hide a grin; Hunter knew he was asking for _way_ less than he should be, but considering his reputation, it wouldn’t seem too out of ordinary. Slow ol’ Hunter trading fancy gold for a skateboard? Sounded about right.

    (And, honestly, he doesn’t care for fancy crud - though honestly he would have gone for maybe three skateboard’s worth.)

     “. . .bring it to the Autumn Castle tommarrow, a little after noon. We’ll talk then.”

    “You got it!” He gave a thumbs up to the bear, who grumbled, then turned and walked away.

   Once out of sight, his face dropped into a more serious expression.

    Now it was time for a game plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, no, Hunter isn’t pretending to be friendly - he naturally is a friendly guy. He’s just very observant, so he uses it to his advantage. It’s, I’m making him a more complex character (as is the others), and it’s hard to describe.


	9. Rough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spyro’s POV probably won’t come back until he’s rescued - maybe three more chapters including this one?
> 
> Also, I know I don’t do this enough, but I want to thank everyone who’s taking the time reading. I’ll admit I usually focus on responding to comments, and I apologize. I do see the hits, Kudos, and Bookmark(s) go up, and I want to make sure to take time to thank you guys for giving this fic a chance ^u^.

      While Hunter was distracting Moneybags, Elora took the time to snoop around Bags’ mansion.

     It wasn’t really a mansion, per se, but an elaborate home. it was much more put together than most ramshackle abodes in Avalar, baring the castles (and the Professor’s lab, of course.)

   And, fortunately, Moneybags didn’t have any guard dogs or magical tripwires.

    She wasn’t expecting to find much, really; just a quick snoop to see what his personality might reveal about the situation.

    It wasn’t hard for the faun to find a window that just happened to have a loose latch. Nor was it too hard to jiggle it open. Her ears flattened against her head in displeasure; she really wasn’t one to do anything shady by nature, not even a prank, so breaking and entering rubbed her the wrong way. But, she was trying to help someone who was potentially kidnapped, she reasoned.

    She landed softly in what could probably be considered the living room. She was careful not to leave any hoof-prints, and glanced around cautiously, nose and ears twitching. Satisfied when nothing made her senses scream _danger!_ , she made her way through the lavishly-decorated room.

    The carpet was plush-looking, and soft when she brushed her hand against it. Rich, rusty red and lines of gold, it sprawled like a path through the next doorway. The room she was in considered of an elaborate fireplace and multiple paintings with careful brushstrokes. 

    Obviously, it was meant to impress guests, but Elora gave it no mind as she went on her way.

    The hallway turned into a cross-section; the front door to her left, a set of stairs to her right, and the kitchen in front of her. She was about to go forward but thought better of it, and turned towards the stairs.

    Her ears shot up and she bit back a whoop; just her luck, there was a door to the right of the staircase, and some space for it to open. At first she had thought it had just been a design choice, given that the stairs turned twice at an angle while going up, but she now saw that wasn’t just the case.

    She went to the door.

     It wasn’t left cracked open, but it wasn’t exactly locked either.  Well, that’s what she thought, anyways, until she pulled on it and felt a bolt stop the door from opening.

    Elora nearly snarled in frustration; she was almost out of time. Going upstairs would take too long, and while she was sure that the kitchen had a door leading off to a room or basement, there wasn’t enough time to check.

    She pushed down her growing frustration, eyes burning.

    And then her ears twitched.

    There was a soft brushing sound. Like. . .fluttering.

    She stooped down, angling to see through the keyhole.

    And as a plethora of colors danced across her eye, an understanding began to form like a diamond in the rough.


	10. Pyrite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably this chapter and then Spyro.
> 
> I don’t really have a set POV system; I’m just trying to alternate it best as I can. This one will probably slip between multiple POVs in this chapter because I feel like that’s what’ll fit best.
> 
> EDIT: sorry, went through a weird funk and couldn’t write.

     Hunter made his way back to the Professor’s home-portal, face pinched.

    The ‘trade’ had gone over quite well. Hunter already knew that the statue he’d “found” was the real-deal (well, Uff found it, Hunter “borrowed” it. But honestly that Egg Theif was rarely coherent most days, so Hunter was sure he wouldn’t even remember owning it.) It was only a matter of showing it to Moneybags and convincing him that he’d had the Professor assure him previously for the Bear to take the bait.

    So while they haggled (MB tried to convince Hunter that Skateboards were really expensive. Hunter countered that gold leaf this intact was quite rare.), Hunter tried his best to pick appart Moneybags mannerisms. But there was no tell in his words or actions.

    At least Elora should have gotten in and out of the mansion by now.

     The only thing that Hunter could say he had gathered was confirmation that Moneybags had something alive. At a certain point, MB had started to get fidgety, checking his watch and gritting his teeth agitatedly. In the end, he conceded to Hunter’s end of the deal, merely saying that he had important business to attend to.

     Feeding time, is what Hunter got out of it. If you were selling some sort of exotic animal, you had to feed it to keep it alive, right?

    So at least he left the Autumn Plains with something.

* * *

 

     Elora rushed back to the Professor’s Lab, hooves skidding on the rain-slick ground, and eventually sliding on the sand of the Professor’s home. Not too long after she had made it through, she heard the tell-tale tinkling warp of someone coming through the portal. Flicking her ears back, she could hear it was Hunter.

    It only took a few long strides for the Cheetah to catch up. They ran in silence for a minute or so.

    “. . .Find anything?”

    Elora puffed. “Yeah, but I’ll tell you when we get to the Professor. You?”

     Hunter’s reply seemed disgruntled. “Not much. He definitely has something he’s hiding, but I’ll tell ya guys more in a bit.”

    It didn’t take them long to get to the Lab, nor did it take them much longer to find the Professor amongst the keyboards and metal modules. He was in the back, a section of cave that had yet to be covered in plaster and tile, tinkering with his portal.

     It wasn’t massive like the superportal; in fact, it was noticeably smaller than the normal world-portals of Avalar. Maybe even slightly wider. Hunter would definitely have to stoop down a bit to go through it.

    The gems aligning the rim were a mix of blue and green, though in no particular order that they would figure out. And, for some reason, next the very top center space on the right was empty.

    The Professor was on his knees, adjusting wires from an open panel.

    Dismissing this observation, Elora cleared her throat. “Professor?”

    There was a zap and a yelp, as the Professor twisted a wire wrong. He turned around sucking on his fingers. “Ah, ‘Lora! Hunt’r! Wat dd oo fnd owt?”

     “Try that again without the fingers maybe, Professor.” Hunter was stifling a grin.

    “Ah, sorry about that. I asked what you had found out.” He wipes his paw on his lab coat sheepishly.

     Hunter deflated at that a bit. “Not much, just that he definitely has something alive. MB got real concerned about the time an’ sorta hurried off. I figured it was probly feeding time or sumthin’.”

    “It’s still important that we have confirmation, Hunter,” The Professor said gently. 

    “It does help, Hunter,” Elora added, putting a hand on his arm.

    This seemed to brighten him a bit. “Well. . .you said you found something too, right?”

    She nodded, removing her hand. “Yes. I snuck in easily enough. I didn’t get to look around too much, but there was this locked door in his house.” She glanced at them; their attention seemed to be focused solely on her. “I looked through the keyhole. There were. . .” Elora took a deep breath. “Professor, their were _hundreds_ of fodder butterflies in jars. All kinds of colors, but mostly the pink-trimmed yellow ones.”

     Hunter looked at her, speaking carefully. “So, either he’s starting a new butterfly collection. . .”

    “. . .or he has something magic-based, like a dragonfly.”

    The Professor fixes his glasses. “Well, that would explain why he’s so keen on keeping such a creature locked up. If he somehow caught a dragonfly, well, they’re rare enough in Avalar. . .” he started to mutter to himself, scuttling off to his main laboratory.

     He rummaged around, until he found a box, and, finding what he was looking for, pulled it up from amongst the mess.    

    “Thank you, both of you - without this information, the finishing touches on my portal would have been mere guesswork. But, knowing that the nature of this creature is magical, I can confidently start up the portal.”

    In his hands was a red, magic-based orb. Scuttling back to the portal, with Hunter and Elora in tow, he reached up. With a hop, he was able to push the orb in.

    They watched with bated breath as it hummed, the orbs sparkling one by one.

    And then the portal became alit with a swirl of energy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QOTP: Favourite candy?
> 
> (My) A: I like varying kinds. I’m partial to black licorice if it doesn’t have too much molasses, Dark chocolate KitKats, Robin’s Eggs, Molasses Chips from Sees candy, and strawberry licorice.


	11. Tumbling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So these recent two chapter titles are deliberate. This one is tumbling - which is a process used to define rocks into round shiny stones. Bonus points if you know what Pyrite is and/or why I called past chapter that!
> 
> Spyro POV time :D.
> 
> Also: drew a pic!! https://subtleshenanigans.tumblr.com/post/183759324663/drew-spyro-going-through-a-portal-on-my-phone

     He sighs, tail curling over his snout.

    Blue eyes have turned from navy to slate, after being stuck in such a dreary place. The band is back, firmly circling his muzzle, and he has been responding to Sparx’s chimes less and less.

    His hope is wavering.

   Spyro really is a young dragon. A child, in all reality. Maybe somewhere between an adolescent and encroaching on teenagehood, but still a child. 

    Things are taking their toll.

    Why hasn’t Delbin saved him? The Artisans were the smartest of the Dragon clans; and if not them, then why haven’t the Dream Weavers with their mystical insight? The Beast Makers with their superior instincts? The Peace Keepers with their determination? The Magic Crafters with their power?

    He’s knows that they have not forgotten him. But. . . maybe they have taken him for dead.

    Because how could they know that Spyro had left the dragonlands?

    Sparx still chimes and bleats, every once in awhile. Checking to see if Spyro is okay, probably, or reassuring his own okay-ness.

    But Spyro has stopped his frequent affirmations. Only giving a growl rolled over into a grunt once in awhile.

    Responding takes too much energy.

    His stomach grumbles unhappily. He was not made for raw meat, though he could technically digest it. And he’s not being fed enough for his growth rate. He remembers the Elders chuckling over his small size, remarking, ‘How does he put away so much yet grow so little?’

    His muzzle twitches a brief flash of a smile at the fond memory.

     It’s been hard to focus on those, lately.

    But Moneybags has already done his daily feeding and check; he knows the bear is busy with something, since his five visits a day have gone down to two. It’ll be hours yet before what he presumes is the nighttime check.

    Or the morning check. He’s not really sure if Moneybags is diurnal or nocturnal, and there’s no windows or indication of time passing in his cage, for that matter.  

    Not that it really matters; it merely means more time for himself, to remember or day dream or stretch as best as he can in his stifling cage.

    There’s a surge of anger and indignation, but it fizzles out just as swiftly.

    He decides just to zone out. Imagine gliding and stretching his wings in the dragonlands, Sparx at his side as his Fire teacher, Ignitus, grumbles at him for skipping lessons again to chase sheep.

    Marco the balloonist would wave from his planks whenever he saw Spyro during his commute amongst the lands. The other elders would either laugh or grumble as Spyro zoomed past them, grass flying up as he charged over the rolling hills. And then the portals to the worlds of his home would flash to life as he grew near, a swirling galaxy of stars that dimmed as he veered past.

    But in his day dream, one stayed stubbornly in front of him. It wasn’t until a creature he had never seen before came through that his surroundings melted and he was back in his prison.

    Some feet in front of him and past one of the many stacks of crates, there was an old, broken portal that Moneybags had laying against the wall, with the frame cracked and leaning inwards from bent metal on the right, and some wires sticking out, had come to life.

    He suddenly registers Sparx’s shrill chirring.

    Three beings come through in succession; something that looks like a red-furred goat, a tall creature that looks sorta like the spotted cats from the Beast Maker’s swamp, and a creature he had only ever seen in the history books, a mole.

    (Moles had reportedly helped the dragons back in the forgotten lands, apparently, but when the dragons left, the moles stayed, supposedly.)

    They were all walking on two legs, like the Elder dragons. The younger - goat-lady and spotted-cat - glancing around warily while the older mole gazed sharply. When his eyes landed on Spyro, he gasped.

    He darted forwards, the other two following. Spyro shrank back, one paw lifted, as if he could protect himself in such a state.

    But the mole’s eyes were filled with horror, not the sick glee that Moneybag’s had. “Oh no. . .” He whispered, voice trembling. “Oh no oh no; this is horrible. Horrible indeed. Oh, Moneybags, I knew you weren’t exactly a good sort but _what have you done_?”  

     Goat girl and spotted cat were right behind him, tense with fear. They must be trespassing. When they saw him, the cat seized, jaw dropping, and the goat’s(?) eats fall back.

    “Professor, is that. . .?”

     “Yes, Elora. A dragon.” The ‘Professor’ straightened his glasses. “We’ll need to haste before Moneybag’s returns. Dragon,” this adressed to Spyro, meeting his eyes. It was the first gaze he had met in over a month that wasn’t malicious. “Do you speak the same language as us? Or can you at least understand?”

    He tried to open his muzzle, because _yes_ , while their pronunciation was much more muffled in a sense, he understood them perfectly. But the band prevented that, so he just shook his head.

    The mole nodded. “Good. We’re going to get you out of here. It’s wrong - no, it’s _**detestable**_ \- that Moneybags has kept you here like this. Can we trust you to let us help you?”

    Spyro paused - could _he_ trust _them_? Who knew if this was some sick game of Moneybags? Or if they were thieves looking to steal the bear’s ‘treasure?’

    His indigo eyes roved their faces. But he only saw desperation, and fear. Perhaps a little awe hidden behind it all.

    The spotted cat stepped forwards.

    “Hunter. . .” The Elora girl whispered.

    This Hunter took no notice. “Look, dude. We can sit here and try to convince you, but who knows when blowbag will be back? You can either stay here and wait for him, or take the chance and trust us now. What do you say?”

    It was a few tense, silent moments. But eventually he lowered his head in submission. 

    Spyro saw them slump in relief. 

     “Okay, Professor, keep the portal open. Elora, be ready to pull off the bands.”

    The Professor scurried away and Elora followed Hunter closer to the cage. It could fit both of them with a little breathing room but for Spyro it was barely comfortable to turn.

    The cat unsheathed his claws and began picking at the cage lock. After some tense seconds, it popped open with a click. When he slipped inside the cage, Spyro fought to keep still. He remembered the last time Moneybags had gotten angry at him.

   But the cat was careful; plus, while taller than Moneybags, he wasn’t too big. Spyro’s horns would probably reach his ears if he stood at his full height.  So he didn’t feel very threatened as the cat crawled around him, picking the locks with his claws. Elora carefully slipped the manacles and collar off, until all that was left was the band around his muzzle. With a nod, both of them worked this soft paws around it and tugged it off. They backed out of the cage warily.

    When he was free, Spyro stood and stretched, a feline silkiness to his movements. He shifted his jaw, clacking his teeth, and ruffled his wings. Then, he stepped out of the cage.

    His two rescuers watched him with wide, awed eyes. He was easily what could be called a ‘rideable’ size compared to them. But while he knew himself to be undersized for a dragon, he didn’t know that to them he was bigger than they would have imagined.

    “Thanks,” he eventually breathed out. He puffed out some of the smoke from his lungs; weeks of build-up from not being able to properly breathe his fire. “Before we go I need to get Sparx - my brother. He’s a dragonfly.”

    “I already have him, young dragon.” The Professors creaky voice came from the portal a few feet away. Sparx hovered by him, zipping chirps and doing a flip when he saw his brother out. Glass lay to the side where the lantern had been shattered.

    “I know you probably don’t trust us yet. But please come with us; we can figure out things once we’re free of this place.”

   “And leave Moneybags with a heartattack,” Hunter added with a stressed laugh.

    “Hunter.” Elora sounded disapproving.

    Spyro looked at them each in turn, then to the swirling Galaxy past them. He could refuse; leave from this strange cave and through whatever home Moneybags had above. They were giving him that option.

   Or he could follow them into the unknown, where he will either be tricked by them, or have more of a chance.

    Less than a minute later, Spyro ran after the other three into the portal. Once through, it sparked and broke down again, leaving the basement empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of a weird chapter but I hope y’all enjoy!!


	12. Exchange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop!! I’m back :D. And this chapter is a bit of a mess.
> 
> This is non-shipping by the way; I’ll have varying characters refer to Spyro as beautiful or handsome or regal, since they’ve never seen a real dragon and to them he _is_ really pretty. Heck, that’s why this is titled _Gilded Amethyst_.
> 
> As usual I don’t know exactly where I’m going with this ,:D but I’m having fun and that’s what counts.
> 
> Also I found Spyro The Dragon (the original game, which we had but had been too scratched to play; so it’s the only one I’ve never played) as well as Year Of The Dragon!!! (And Qbert?) I’ll be getting them descratched soon!!

    The first thing he registers isn’t the thin layer of sand beneath his paws, nor the warm ocean breeze funneling into the cave. It’s that he left the emptiness of his prison behind.

    It’s that his brother has settled on his head, next to his frill.

    It’s that he’s free.

* * *

 

    They came out of the portal, back into the Professor’s lab.

    “Quickly, Hunter,” The Professor directs, and the latter follows to help disconnect the orbs from the portal.

    Elora stands by, watching, and glances at the dragon.

    He’s crying.

    It’s silent; his tears don’t shimmer like a fairy’s (like she would have expected), but they glisten under the artificial lighting. His tail sweeps out, once, cautiously, much like Hunter’s would.

    It strikes her, suddenly, that she knows next to nothing about dragons except what’s been presented in the lore books. Draconic seemed to bleed into something feline and serpentine, with what she can tell, and with however long he was prisoner, she doesn’t have an inkling of how he’ll react to things.

     Questions are ready to burst forth from the top of her tongue.

    Instead, she asks, “Hey, you wanna go outside?”

    It takes him a second to register that the question is directed at him, she can tell. He tilts his head towards her, eyes flickering away to avoid contact. He opens his mouth. Closes it just as suddenly, then swallows and nods. Once, slowly, like he’s unsure.

   The dragon’s probably wondering what he’s expected to give in exchange for this freedom - she wouldn’t be surprised if Moneybags pounded that thought into his head.

    It made her sad, in more ways than one; that someone would dare treat an intelligent creature like that, and that someone would hurt such a beautiful one at that.

    Elora just watched him from the corner of her eye as they left the Professor’s lab. He kept shooting her glances, twitching minutely to gaze at his surroundings. She saw the surprise and curiousity edging in his eyes, at the Professor’s many strange and wondrous machines.

    And then they were outside.

    He blinked against the startlingly warm light; after the cold artificial lights of the lab, the sun was a welcome surprise he needed to adjust to. Elora watched as he stood there, stock-still.

    Then he flexes his paws, wiggling his claws into the sand. His face transformed into something _wonderful_ \- still crying but his eyes were wide and teeth showing in a grin, as he _stretched_ his wings wide.

    “The sun.” His voice is such a low, hoarse whisper that she almost doesn’t hear it.

    She clasps her paws behind her back, leaning forward and back awkwardly. “It’s nice today - sometimes it can be too bright or hot, but the Breezebuilders seemed to have fixed their fans.” She’s babbling, she knows - he doesn’t have any idea what she’s talking about, but she figures that someone should fill the void of silence.

    He seems okay with it, at least.

    The dragonfly buzzes, then makes a noise like a bleat.

    “You’re right, Sparx - it’s nice.”

    His voice is still low, and she remembers the band that had been around his muzzle. And then she sees the thin line of red across his cheek; a still-healing scar running through the soft scales.

    Her anger at Moneybags flares, and she has to tamper it down; she doesn’t want to make the dragon uncomfortable.

     Speaking of the dragon. . .

     “I’m Elora,” she says gently, rocking back and forth still. Recalling what he had said about the dragonfly earlier, she asked, “You said your brother’s name is Sparx? Can I ask you what’s yours?”

    He looks at her with wide, clouded indigo eyes. He’s confused, that much is obvious, though he tentatively shared. “. . .my name’s Spyro.”

    Elora smiles kindly, but not falsely or flashily. “That’s a nice name. It’s nice to meet you, Spyro.”

    “Yeah, dude; name’s Hunter.” Elora turns, having heard his heavy footfalls before his voice - he’s keeping his tone fairly low, all things considered, though retaining his joviality. “It’s good to meet you.” The Professor probably had a word with him before they came out. Or, the other way around, actually. 

    It was hard to tell sometimes who was the denser of the two. It was sorta situational.

    Spyro tilted his head slightly, an odd expression on his face. That, or his more serpentine features made him hard to read. 

    He seemed to briefly become bold, since he ventured, “What. . .are you guys? I know the, uh, Professor is a mole, but I’m not sure ‘bout you two? A pussycat and some kinda goat?”

    Elora couldn’t help the sharp snort that escaped her; barely even noticed as the dragon’s eyes flashed and he took a small step back. 

    “No, I’m a Faun, you dork. And Hunter’s a cheetah; it’s a sort of cat.” She was sure to say it non-aggressively; the goat comment just sorta caught her off-guard is all.

    He eyed them skeptically, and Hunter added in a little defensively - but, also, playfully - “It’s not like we’ve ever seen a dragon before either, y’know.”

    Spyro winced at that. She wondered if Hunter’s tone had been too biting. “Yeah, I, uh, I’m a little small for my age.”

    It seemed that her worry was unfounded - though her shock certainly wasn’t. “ _What_?” She choked out. Paws out flat, palm-up as she gestured at his entirety. “You’re small??”

    “Yeah dude, no offense but I could, like, totally ride you like a manta ray,” Hunter’s own disbelief evident, “I was gonna say you’re younger than I’d probably guess, but I didn’t think you were _small_.” His eyes suddenly widened. “Oh no, how big do dragons _even_ get?”

   His shrill squeak made her ears hurt, and she almost told Hunter off, but then she heard the soft, sputtered chuckles.

    It seemed that that had tickled the dr- Spyro’s funny bone, because he tilted his head low, laughing. “Big,” he said in between breaths, “real big. Especially the Peace Keepers and Beast Makers - I’m not just small. I’m small for an Artisan.”

    “Are those. . .like, tribes?” Hunter asks, scratching his head. He still seems baffled by the whole size thing.

    Elora is, too.

    Spyro seems to withdraw again, with the attention directed on him. “Uh, Yeah, sorta. . .there’s five worlds in the Dragon Realms, and they all have different features. I’m specifically a Fire Dragon from the Artisan world,” he adds, voice growing so soft that Elora has to strain to hear it.

    “Well, that’s cool!” She decided to respond with; she tried not to change the subject, but to take the focus off of him. “I’m a Faun, probably from the Fractured Hills in the Autumn Plains. Avalar is made of three Home worlds that have connecting portals to other worlds, called the Lesser worlds.”

    Hunter shrugs. “Don’t ask me where I’m from; I’m an orphan and I haven’t met any other Cheetahs yet.”

    _This_ seems to peak Spyro’s interest, but before he can ask anything, the Professor comes striding out.

    “Excellent news!” His voice is a little loud, so she and Hunter shoot him looks. He doesn’t change composure, but does lower his voice. “I’ve made sure to dismantle the portal in every way I can think of - no one else is coming through at any time. Now, young dragon-”

   “His name is Spyro,” she cuts in.

    “-as I see it, you are free to do as you please. Unfortunately, there is no portal straight back to the dragon worlds,” he seems genuinely apologetic, drooping. But he snaps back up just as fast, “but! Lucky for you, I’ve been working on one! I’ve been hoping to contact the Dragon Elders to ask for their help in a matter. So if you’d like, you may stay here or anywhere else in Avalar while I try to finish this portal.”

    Spyro seemed overwhelmed at it all; a chance to go home, easy as that? But Elora also saw something dark, something resigned. His whole body deflated, and he nodded, once.

    “Excellent!” Nothing in the Professor’s tone changed, but Elora could see the concern, bright as day. “Feel free to roam wherever you please, and if you need a guide, you can ask any one of us.” The Professor lowered his voice, “we want to help.”

    This still seemed to be a lot to take in, so he merely nodded again. The Professor took this in stride, giving an, “Okay!” and proceeded to go back into the lab to work on the portal.

    It was awkwardly silent for a bit. The sun was still pretty high, and while Elora and Hunter would normally be off doing something by now, they didn’t just want to abandon Spyro.

    “So. . .anything you want to do?” Hunter asked meekly.

    Spyro looked straight down, thinking.

     “. . .maybe. . .go for a swim?”

     

     


	13. Floating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I’m still not sure where I’m going from here; I’ve sorta left things ambiguous for wiggle room (especially all that Spyro went through with Moneybags - hopefully I can hint at things more.) For now it’ll be a recovery stage, with the Professor working on his portal to the dragon realms.

    He’s just. . .floating. The sky above him, the sea around him. If it is a sea - he knows nothing of the terms or geography of this realm.

    He remembered hating water as a hatchling, and on to a dragonlet when his wings outpaced his body in a growth spurt and dragged him down. It wasn’t until Delbin convinced Cyril to help him that Spyro was willing to try again.

    And he had liked it, for awhile, he thinks. His body had evened out, though his wings were now currently too small. But now, even with sapphire water keeping him afloat, feeling silky against his scales and the sun keeping him warm-

    It was like watching everything through scraped and clouded glass. He could sorta see past the scratches but there was too much in the way to fully feel it.

    It was kinda like being numb.

    So he lay on his back with his wings spread out and just . . . floated.

    He vaguely wonders how the other dragons are. He remembers that he should be going through his growth spurt in the next few years, with his hind legs growing stronger, and his tail outpacing everything else so that he could walk on two rather than fours. His wings will be the last thing to fully grow. But this knowledge is distant, fleeting.

    He hears Elora’s laugh as Hunter splashed her, and Hunter’s own sputters as the faun gets him back. But Spyro can’t bring himself to join - and not because he doesn’t exactly know them. He’s usually a friendly dragon, up for any game.

    He just. . .doesn't want to. He doesn’t want to do much of anything.

    Sparx trills a purr from where he’s napping on Spyro’s chest, safe from the water. A familiar warmth floods through him, from head frill to claw tips.

    Maybe he’s not fully numb then.

    “Hey! That’s cheating!”

     Hunter’s yowl rouses him, and he looks over to see Elora shove him down into the water, presumably again.

    Part of him wants to smile, even huff a laugh, but it’s like the band is still clamped around his muzzle. He watches blankly.

     At least he’s not as scared. He does keep worrying that he’ll wake up back in the cage. But for now. . .he’s trusting that this is real. That he’s okay, that the sun is actually there, shining warmth on him. That Spark is before him, twitching in his sleep.

    He doesn’t hope, but he _trusts_.

* * *

 

    Hunter comes up, sputtering and slashing. He glares at Elora, ears pinned back and water streaming down his muzzle. “You’re a dirty cheater,” he growls over her laughter.

    “Me? Cheating?” She has puts a paw to her chest in mock exasperation. “Says the cheetah who drags people into races.”

    Hunter rolls his eyes. There’s the gentle sound of the sea rocking, and the scant sounds of battle in the Breezebuilder’s territory, if one listens hard enough. He turns around to look at Spyro, who is just drifting, flat on his back.

    He looks back to Elora and purses his lips.

    Her eyes become round with concern. “Should- should we invite him to join us.”

    After a beat, Hunter replies, “No. He probably isn’t used to people, and he’s taking this rough. Dragging him into sudden activity probably isn’t the best idea.”

    Elora sinks into the water with a sigh. He knows that she knows he’s right - sometimes her empathy can be too clouding. While Hunter’s more relaxed, somewhat serious self can see the better option in a situation.

    It’s complex contradictions that make them, and make them work so well together.

     “So. . .what should we do?” She finally asks. She’s sunk to her chin, her green leaf dress looking teal under the water.

    “What we’ve been doing.” Hunter keeps his voice warm. “Being kind, and patient.” He follows her gaze as she looks back to Spyro.

    “Just being there, I guess.”


	14. Quality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Live!!!!
> 
> So Starlightxnightmare made mention of a pattern in the titles and I’m gonna keep to that (thanks for pointing that out to me, by the way!) Originally I was just trying to include the titles in the chapter.
> 
> Like I said before, stuff went on that no one got to read about. So there’ll be flashbacks of sorts later on.
> 
> Filler chapter I guess.

      “. . .Okay, now if you’ll tilt your head up. . .”

       The Professor watched as Spyro did just so, angling slightly to the right so that his scar was fully visible. The Professor was gentle, grazing the scales near the wound with a soft finger.

    He sat back with a sigh. “It’s as I suspected; it’ll fully scar. Somehow it caught the edgeplate of the scales and ripped deep.”

    Spyro merely blinked at him, seemingly unconcerned. As far as the Professor could tell, Moneybags hadn’t taken to physically handling or hurting the young dragon. So perhaps the news of scaring wasn’t as jarring as he’d have thought.

    No, the real scars he needed to worry about were the ones set deep, deep inside; the ones that kept an invisible band clamped shut around Spyro’s muzzle. He had scarcely spoken over the last three days, except to murmur to his Dragonfly brother, and even then it was low and rasped. As though. . .

. . .as though he was afraid to speak.

     “Well, we’re all done here for the moment. I’d like to give you a full check up later, if you’re okay with that. For now though, enjoy the day,” the Professor informs him.

    Spyro gives a shrug with his wings. “We could do the check up now,” he mutters. He’s honestly fine with it - Moneybags rarely touched him, except for in the beginning when he had roughly grabbed his muzzle and inspected him, like one would the quality of a gem. 

    But he doubted that the Professor would do such a thing.

    The Professor was surprised. “If you’re sure. . .” Spyro nodded, “okay then; we’ll start with your height. Sit up straight, please.”

    And Spyro did so, head held regally like a cat, though there was none of the disdain. He was easily taller than the Professor, who was a mole, so it wasn’t surprising. But, he was still fairly big compared to the others. He recalled Hunter and Elora telling him about how Spyro had commented that he was small. Just how big did dragons _get_?

    He had Spyro stand next - his horns probably can reach up to almost the top of Hunter’s head - then stretch out his wings. There was no damage, no wear and tear. They tended to arch and curl forward, and the membrane was somewhat like a bat’s. Unlike a bat or bird, though, there were no finger bones - no, the wing distinctly had its own structure, as though a whole other limb, instead of as replacement forearms.

    Spyro kept silent, merely complying with the Professor’s instructions. He was slow to answering questions, but didn’t outright ignore him.

    “Hmm, well, claws, teeth, and eyes seem healthy. I don’t see too much damage - maybe slight malnutrition but that’s easy to remedy. Just some healthy meals.”

    Spyro did flinch at the mention of food, and the Professor filed that away for later.

    “Okie dokie, I think we’re done here. Anything else I need to know?”

    Spyro started to shake his head, then stopped. He was pensive, looking at his paws, then said, “I. . .I’m a Fire dragon. I need. . .to practice my fire.”

     The Professor raised a brow. _What could he possibly mean by that? Was he like. . .a forge, continuously burning? If so. . ._ “Any wheezing or trouble breathing?”

    A nod.

    The mole tapped his pencil to his lip. “Hmm, well I’m sure I can arrange something for you to expel any fire you need to! For now I suggest you eat some honey if you have a sore throat. And I’m sure it’s fine if you breathe fire out on the shore,” he waved a paw in dismissal, “now go on, young dragon - enjoy your day.” He brought his notes to the table and started muttering to himself.

    There was some sort of wry smile that crept onto the dragon’s muzzle, but he merely nodded and slunk away.

     Once he took a quick peak to confirm that the dragon was out of sight, the Professor slumped onto the table.

    “Physically, he’s mostly fine,” he muttered to himself, “but psychologically. . .I’m not a doctor. He has an aversion to eating, probably; I’ve barely seen him pick at meals. He doesn’t like to be stared at or talk. How do we communicate with him effectively? Make sure he eats enough? How do we help?”

    As expected, the empty room responded with silence.

    After a time, the Professor picked himself up. Tidying his notes on Spyro, he set them aside and pulled out his references for the Dragon World Portal.

    “I guess. . .the best we can do is be there for him, while I try to contact someone who _can_ help him.”


	15. Shimmer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s been so long guys!!! I haven’t been in much of a creative mood lately so I apologize if this is a little off or short; I need to reorganize what I wanted to do exactly with this fic. So just a short update for now.
> 
> Mostly just soft fluff; they’re impressed with Spyro and happy that he seems a little more openly happy.
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos, comments, and bookmarks so far!!!

       “Will this do?” Hunter asked, making sure it was steady.

     A nod.

     “Okay then,” Hunter hopped down from the small hill of sand, jogging over to where Elora was. Spyro shook out his wings and resettled them. The Professor stood some distance away, notepad in hand.

    It had been a week, and they finally set up a target for Spyro to practice his flames on; it wasn’t too far away, but up at an angle. He agreed to let the others watch with minimal hesitation, sweeping his tail to the side and looking away. He had yet to let loose his fire, and his throat had grown raspier.

    It was the only time the Professor has put his paw down in regards to the young dragon, albeit gently.

     They didn’t have to be around if he didn’t want, but he needed to let his flames loose so that he wouldn’t choke on his own smoke.

     So here they were, on the sands with a slight breeze. Under Spyro’s quiet recommendations they set the target back a bit.

     As well as took a few steps back.

    Sparx trilled excitedly - apparently the dragonfly was just as anxious as they were to see the dragon breathe fire.

    Spyro took a stance, wings cocked at his sides in case the force pushed him back. He _was_ a dragon, and quite experienced in this, they all realized.

    They double checked their distance again, just in case.

     Hunter saw as Spyro took a swelling breath in through his snout, holding it a moment, and then snapping forward in the same movement curling his mouth to spit the flames. 

    What came out was a shimmering jet of fire, streaming out and curling at the edges, hitting the target with such a force it surely would have toppled if it hadn’t shattered first, smoking pieces of charred wood scattering around.

    Spyro stood there, panting as smoke curled out of the sides of his mouth. He was smiling softly. It was one of the first genuine ones Hunter had seen.

     “Well,” the Professor broke the silence, “excellent control, Spyro! And well done, too. Despite smoke build up you didn’t seem to have too much trouble,” he paused a moment, glancing at the still-smoking shards in the sand, “I believe we’ll need to set up more targets for you.”

    It took but a moment; Hunter and Elora swarmed over to Spyro, exclaiming about how ‘cool’ that was. Sparx buzzed and hummed around them, giving his own input. Spyro curled his head into his chest shyly, but there was also that pleased cat-curl to his tail that left Hunter smiling.

   It was probably such a little thing, but to Hunter, this little bit of happiness was a big deal.


	16. Polish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . . ,:D
> 
> Sorry it’s been so long; it’s been. . .a weird few months. But!!! I’ve been really feeling like writing this fic again so here we go!!! Here’s a small chapter as a dive back in!!
> 
> There’ll probably be two phases to this fic: the Moneybags arc and the Ripto arc; the latter one will commence roughly around when we get a portal connected to the dragon realms, so some time yet.
> 
> Thank you all for your patience!!! Hope you enjoy!!!

   Spyro seemed to be enjoying the targets, Hunter noticed with a smile. It was really cool to watch the dragon spit flame, as well as see his potentially-a-friend(?) smiling, even if it was small.

    It felt real, and Spyro seemed to enjoy it. That’s what was important.

    But there’s was still. . . something not right. The dragon would suddenly droop, as though tied down back in the cage, expression glazed and wary. He wondered if Spyro still had nightmares.

    (He wondered if Spyro still questioned their motives.)

    But, over the past week he seemed to be improving. Maybe not fully better, and maybe not in big leaps and bounds, but it was enough to clear the glazed expression in the dragon’s eyes at least somewhat.

    Spyro was still quiet, hesitant to speak, but he _did_ make an effort. He had no fear talking about his home or how dragons lived - as long as it avoided his own personal feelings, he was fine with it.

    Hunter wishes that he would open up more, but he wasn’t about to push it.

    Spyro’s scales looked healthier too; shining a little more, like the shore rocks polished by the tide. But there was still a slight dullness, a lethargy to his movements.

    Probably because he wasn’t really eating much.

    And that. . .that really worried Hunter. Because, well, he gathered that Spyro was younger than him - though by how much he didn’t know, as he’d have to factor in equivalency and not just number-age - and growing, so he really should be eating more. But Spyro just tended to pick at his food.

    It wasn’t a matter of preference, Hunter figured out; from what he gleaned, dragons were omnivorous but just ate more meat than plants.

    It seemed to be more tied in with his previous, Uh, kidnapping(?) than anything.

    And Hunter wasn’t exactly sure how to help.

    Forcing him or guilting him into eating would surely just cause more distress than help, but at this rate Spyro would start getting sick. He was barely picking at any of his meals, that Hunter wasn’t even sure if he was eating even one meal by the end of the day.

    Maybe he could encourage him to snack throughout the day? Or he could start snacking throughout the day himself, and casually offer some?

     It was at least worth a try, Hunter supposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> although it won’t be named, exactly, yes Spyro is dealing with depression and more than likely PTSD. Considering how their world functions, though, I don’t think they’d have words for things like that. That doesn’t mean that they can’t help and support their friend as best as they can, though.


	17. gleam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m realizing that I have yet to give Sparx a chapter ,:D.
> 
> Also!!! I got Reignited!!! So this has been giving me motivation to write XD.
> 
> I literally have lost all concept of how I wanted the writing tone of this to be, so excuse it if it’s all over the place please.

     As worried as he was for his brother-if-not-by-blood-but-by-bond, Sparx felt safe.

    As a dragonfly, who was more sensitive to the fine-tuning of a world, he knew that their rescuers had no ill intentions. Unlike Moneybags, or Theif, who both had a darkness like swamp muck and shadow. 

     Elora was curious, but hesitant, like a thorned flower that curls around and protects a garden. The Professor was a firefly, drawn to their light and answers but willing to share his own.

    And Hunter. Well - 

    There was a world-weary mask set heavily in place. It was innocent enough, though why he would want to hide his kind-hearted, gentle intelligence, Sparx would never know. The cheetah obviously had a knack for others and their emotions, as well as the hidden clues that gleamed oh-So-faintly.

    At the end of the day, Sparx would confidently say that he trusted them.

    He could use the help, after all.

    Because as well as he knew Spyro - for he was the light-guide of his brother’s soul; their relationship far stronger than any normal Dragon and Dragonfly relationship - he didn’t have the ability to fix what had happened.

    And what had happened clung to his brother, an invisible set of chains weighing him down. It was stifling of the normal, fiery cadence he had known all their lives. Spyro was clever. Quick-witted. Perhaps even occasionally arrogant and spiteful. As well as kind and gentle and contemplative.

   But now he was quiet, and meek; subjective, letting his fear overwhelm him. It was jarring, and in no way his fault.

    What could a dragonfly do besides trill his reassurance? Stay close, hum melodies, guide his way. He couldn’t make Spyro eat, or scamper, or play. But he _could_ be a steady presence, supporting Spyro when he could do these things again on his own.

    And maybe. . . a little incentive wouldn’t hurt? Nothing pushy, but the option to do something he found fun? 

    Sparx’s wings whirred as he stretched (he had been napping on Spyro’s head), looking around; he could see Elora napping nearby, and felt Spyro breathing beneath him. Hunter sat a ways looking at the beach.

    An idea had begun to build in his mind. He wondered if he could get Hunter to understand him. He decided to try.

    And with that he flew over to the Cheetah to begin a game of charades.


End file.
